Sirius's Gold 🌸

✨️Break me?✨️

Third Person POV

"Break me?" Althea frowned, her brows knitting together as both her palms pressed gently against Sirius's shoulders. She stared up at him, confused, trying to read the cold expression on his face.

Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose, releasing her thigh and pulling away as if her touch had burned him. He sat up straight on the edge of the bed, fists clenched tightly, eyes fixed anywhere but on her.

Althea, still unsure of what had just happened, slowly pushed herself upright as well. She sat beside him, silent for a moment, studying him. Then, with a hesitant motion, she reached out and tugged gently at the sleeve of his black coat. Her fingers barely grasped the fabric before he turned his head, shooting her a glare filled with frustration and something she couldn’t name. Startled, she withdrew her hand immediately, lips pressing into a firm line.

Instead of speaking, she pointed toward the plate of food that remained untouched on the table nearby. It was a small gesture, but her meaning was clear: he needed to eat. Even she could see that he looked tired. Pale. Strained.

Sirius let out a low, annoyed groan and gave her a sharp look. "What kind of magic are you using, little angel?" he muttered, his voice laced with suspicion and irritation.

Althea blinked at him. "Magic?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. There was a tension in his shoulders he couldn’t shake, an ache in his chest that wasn’t just from the curse slowly eating at him.

"Nothing," he mumbled roughly. And in the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving behind only a ripple of energy and the faintest trace of his scent.

Altea stared at the space for a moment, wide-eyed. Then she looked at the plate again and whispered under her breath, "Meanie." With a small pout, she picked it up and tiptoed toward the kitchen.

---

In the demon realm, Sirius stormed through the dark marble corridors of his manor, his jaw tight and his thoughts louder than the sound of his boots echoing off the cold stone. The night air outside was harsh and laced with ash, a stark contrast to the warm stillness of Altea's world.

He was angry. Not at her. Not exactly.

At himself.

He had found her—the golden-blooded angel. The only being in existence whose blood could break his curse and keep him from dying a slow, painful death. She was supposed to be a means to an end, a tool, an answer. Nothing more.

But she had looked at him with kindness. With genuine confusion when he had pulled away.

That should have made it easier.

It didn't.

Dextar, his most trusted general, rounded a corner just as Sirius passed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius cut him off with a single, gritted sentence.

"I found her."

And just like that, he was gone again.

Dextar stood still, eyes narrowing at the space where his king had been. Something was wrong. Sirius’s tone had been off, almost conflicted. But questioning the Demon King never ended well, and so Dextar turned away without another word.

Sirius entered his chambers and flung the door shut with a wave of his hand. The magic surged through the room, rattling the chandeliers and making the guard outside flinch. He ignored it.

He walked toward the tall mirror in the corner, staring at the reflection of a man who looked nothing like a king. His black hair was disheveled, his sharp features shadowed by sleepless nights, and his normally piercing red eyes looked... tired.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him. He was a demon, powerful beyond comprehension. He had ruled over death and fear for centuries. Angels were prey. Nothing more.

And yet when she touched him—when she looked at him like he wasn’t something to fear—something inside him had cracked.

His fingers gripped the edge of the dresser as he bowed his head, exhaling slowly.

There was no time for weakness. The curse was getting worse. It was only a matter of time before his powers would begin to fail completely, and then... the rot would set in.

He had to act.

He had to take her blood.

But her eyes kept haunting him.

---

Back in the angel realm, night had deepened. The glow from the floating lanterns along the quiet streets shimmered like stars. Altea was asleep now, curled beneath her blanket, her features soft and relaxed. Her breathing was slow and steady, and her dreams were peaceful.

But her father was awake.

He stood outside her bedroom door, a heavy weight in his chest that he couldn’t explain. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he had learned long ago not to ignore instincts.

Gently, he opened her door and stepped inside. The room was dim, bathed in silver moonlight. He walked to her bedside and sat on the floor beside her, just watching for a moment.

"I don't know what it is, princess," he whispered, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her forehead. "But I can feel it. Something dark is coming."

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"But I’m here. And as long as I’m alive... nothing will hurt you. I promise."

With that, he stood and left the room quietly, returning to his own chambers, though sleep would not come easily.

---

Sirius stood by the window of his chamber, arms crossed, eyes locked on the distant mountains that divided their worlds. Somewhere beyond those peaks, in that light-drenched place, she was sleeping.

Peacefully.

He could feel her. Not through magic, but something else—something foreign and irritating.

He turned away from the window and sat in the large chair beside the fireplace. The flames danced in silence, casting soft light over his features.

His hand went to his chest again. The pain had returned. A dull, familiar throb reminded him that time was running out.

A knock interrupted the quiet.

"Sire?" Dextar’s voice called. "The curse is accelerating. The alchemists say it may reach your core in less than a month."

Sirius didn’t move. He stared into the fire.

"Let it."

There was a pause. "Shall I prepare a summon for the girl?"

"No," Sirius said firmly. Then after a beat, he added, "Not yet."

Dextar hesitated. "You’re not planning to spare her, are you?"

Sirius finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "I plan to survive. If she breaks in the process... so be it."

But his voice was quieter than it should have been.

Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure if he believed himself anymore.

He leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. His mind kept going back to her. Her face. Her voice. The way she tugged at his sleeve like she wasn’t afraid of him.

She was just an angel.

She wasn’t supposed to matter.

And if something about her had begun to change something in him... he would crush that part before it could grow.

Because demons don’t fall.

Not for angels.

Not ever.